


Dripping with Kerosene

by OverMyFreckledBody



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wynonna Earp Fusion, Angry Derek Hale, Angry Stiles Stilinski, Arguing, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Stiles Stilinski Loves Derek Hale, Swearing, US Marshal Derek Hale, Unresolved Sexual Tension, boys being (angry) boys, implied heavy drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-10 18:38:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11132502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: Stiles is getting real sick and tired of Derek's plans that almost always end in his own death, so this time he tries to do something about it.It ends just about as well as he should have guessed it would. (That is to say, up against a wall and with a mighty need for a drink in his hand.)Or;The Wynonna Earp au with Stiles as the heir and Derek as the surly agent he has to work with (and maybe falls for).





	Dripping with Kerosene

**Author's Note:**

> To celebrate the second season airing on the 9th! I'm real surprised I could even get it done in time, because my pc had to be rebuilt like a week ago and only got fixed up yesterday. You'd think that writing emotions would be harder, being as I'm an actual robot when it comes to anything feelings-wise. 
> 
> Anyway, here's the music I was listening to [(the show's actual theme song, since I liked it so much)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tldf-aLGwfU) and got mild inspiration for the title from. 
> 
> For anyone who hasn't watched the show (or read the comics I think) - I think it's understandable without having seen anything. There are references to things, but for the most part it focuses on a single scene that is happening now. And Stiles' gun is a peacemaker with a pretty long barrel. [Picture of it.](https://www.google.com/search?q=peacemaker+gun&rlz=1C1CHBF_enUS719US719&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiVrr_lj63UAhXM4IMKHR3ACBQQ_AUICygC&biw=1920&bih=974#tbm=isch&q=wynonna+earp+gun)
> 
> Still super recommend the show to anybody interested though.

                It’s a fucking stupid plan. There’s no way Stiles is going to give his okay on it – even if that won’t deter Agent Hale from going along with it anyway. Of course he would, the asshole came up with the plan himself and being the martyr that he is, he doesn’t see the problem with it. No, it seems just fine to him, probably seeing as how it’ll likely end in his death and all.

 

                To top that off, it isn’t even a surety that they’d get all of the guys there, either. Just that they’d get at least a handful and Hale would have some kind of hole in his chest. It’s complete bullshit.

 

                So, obviously, Stiles combats it in the only way he knows will work – by throwing out a different plan with the same results but reversed. _He’d_ be the target here. _He’d_ be the one ending up in the casket. _He’d_ be the one everyone would have to watch go down in gunfire.

 

                As expected (Hale can be amazingly predictable in certain situations), that didn’t go over well.

 

                Hale argues like… like a lot of things. He argues like Stiles is the only one important here, like he’s the only one whose survival is necessary to the cause, like if he, himself, dies then it won’t fuck everything up. He argues like he thinks that if he does it hard enough, loud enough, that if he pushes and prods that he’ll get his way even if he’s wrong and should realize it. He argues like he’s fighting with the world and it’s just him.

 

                He argues like he doesn’t fucking understand that it _isn’t_. He’s got Stiles on his side too and no matter what bullshit he says or does, that’s not changing. That doesn’t mean, however, that Stiles will just sit around and watch Hale work himself to death, or make plans that end similarly, which might be kind of a roadblock in Hale realizing this.

 

                What a goddamn moron.

 

                (He hates how much he loves the man.

 

                …No, he doesn’t. But does he wish it was easier sometimes?

 

                Actually, he was ahead, before, with the moron comment. He’s going to stop there.)

 

                Despite it all, unable to see that Stiles _cares_ , or otherwise, he’s not stupid. He knows just what to say, just where to jab, to dig in, to piss Stiles off, no matter the context. He knows just how to light that fire up inside of him, the kind that doesn’t stop stoking itself until either Hale backs off, or someone jumps between them. It’s the same of fire that burns him to ashes when it’s finally put out, leaves him exhausted. It’s the same kind he can feel the heat of in his eyes when he glares, the same kind he can hear roaring in his ears.

 

                It’s the very same he’s got building in him now and he can tell that Hale _knows_. He always does.

 

                (And yet, he always lights it. Always strikes the match, sometimes with this stupid, stupid look of guilt in his eyes that he thinks is hidden, but doesn’t understand that Stiles can read him. He’s always starting it and by this point, Stiles can’t tell who he’s trying to punish, but in the end, he always flares up in response as if he’s just dripping with kerosene.)

 

                “Goddamn it, Hale!” He slams a flat palm down on the table and it shakes, pens and markers rolling, but nothing falls. They know better by now not to keep anything close enough to the edge that it would fall off if Stiles accidentally rammed into the corner of it like he’s been known to do in his rushing. “Why can’t you just listen to me?”

 

                Hale isn’t the least bit intimidated or even bothered, but that’s no surprise. Scott’s late enough that they’ve been arguing for a while now, going in circles and nowhere. He could probably pop Hale in the face if he even wanted to, but all that’d happen is that Hale would just hurt his fist with those cheekbones of diamond and probably end up glaring more. It’s what he’s doing now – the glaring. And yelling right back, “You’re not the boss here, Stiles!”

 

                He sounds like he’s about to say more of that, but – but that’s so wrong. Sure, it’s _accurate_ , in the sense that Hale is _technically_ his boss here, and whatever, but he’s not really the boss of their situation. He’s had training, maybe, but he doesn’t _know_ these guys. He knows demons, true, or from what Stiles has guessed around when he couldn’t get into any files (though he did feel a little skeevy looking into Hale’s background without asking anyway, so he was a little relieved to find the access so hard to get into), since Hale tells him absolutely the bare minimum unless Stiles asks and bugs him for more information.

 

                Well, on the stuff that doesn’t tie in too well to his past, anyway. He’ll make flippant comments, occasionally, every time with a lost look in his eyes, things like _Cora would have liked these_ while looking at little figurines, or _Peter taught me to play when I was a teenager_ when Scott cracked a joke about being surprised that Hale even knew any card games that weren’t based entirely around gambling. But any straight questions about anything before he showed up in this cursed town and he’s clamming up.

 

                At risk of sounding like a petulant child, he’d claim it isn’t fair, to tease and pretend to trust and then hold back like that, but he gives the man his space, doesn’t push. He knows what it’s like, being on the other side of those probing questions, and he understands the hatred of it.

 

                (So, he only claims it unfair when he’s drunk and Hale is out of hearing distance. Only ever around Scott, who nods along like he knows and hums noncommittingly. It’s good enough comfort for Stiles.)

 

                All that said, controller of his paycheck or whatever, Hale doesn’t get the last say. He doesn’t really understand the history of this town and its reincarnating people, not like Stiles. He doesn’t understand what they want, not more than the simple _chaos, destruction, and a way to spread it_. He knows that Stiles is the heart of their hatred, just for his blood, maybe, and that’s the meat of a lot of his excuses in these types of arguments, but Stiles has his own reasons for needing Hale that sound pretty close to that himself.

 

                That’s not even the point. No, the point is, the _point_ is that –

 

                “ _I’m_ the one with the _gun_ ,” Stiles reminds him, something he’s said so many fucking times at this point. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t, so Stiles thinks it all depends on how tired of the argument Hale is. Speaking of, he whips it out of its holster, barrel pointed at the ceiling and gives Hale a look that tells him to fight him on this.

 

                Surprisingly, Hale doesn’t say a word. Instead, he steps forward with that dark look in his face that he bears every time they disagree. Stiles, uncertain of what exactly he plans on doing here (taking the gun, maybe? but he can’t _do_ anything with it), takes a step backwards, but does his best to show that it’s not a sign of backing down. He cocks it, more as a way to bring attention to it rather than the fact that he moved away than in a threatening manner, and jerks his head to it. “I should be the one with the weighted vote on these big decisions.”

 

                The fact that they even have a weighted vote here (fucking Hale) is bullshit, anyway. They have Scott, which makes three people, even if he isn’t allowed to join in on the fighting and the fray. The votes _should_ be two-to-one, not just whatever Hale picks.

 

                He’s still expecting something, still expecting Hale to point out essentially what Stiles keeps throwing in his face ( _you’ll use those weighted decisions to get yourself killed_ ), but doesn’t understand himself for some goddamn reason, but all he does is step forward again. He’s silent and sure, he’s a quiet man usually, but this time it’s _eerie_.

 

                And it’s pissing Stiles off.

 

                Here he is, mad and angry and everything Hale made him, and the agent’s just staring at him, boring into him with those stupid, intense eyes of his, not saying a word. Stiles can’t argue alone, it’s not possible, and the fact that Hale is taking this from him is only making it worse. The fact that he purposefully riled Stiles up, got his emotions going haywire, and now he’s not fighting with him, not giving him arguments to spit back in return is just –

 

                They’re up against one of the walls, now. Or, really, Stiles is up against the wall, and Hale is caging him in, like some kind of bad boy in a cheesy romantic comedy. Stiles has been taking a step back every time Hale stepped forward, still uneasy about _why_. _Why_ he’s been so quiet suddenly when he was spitting just as Stiles was before, yelling loud enough that the whole station has had to have heard them. It’s not like him and if Stiles wasn’t so angry right now, he’d give a little more into the concern that pools in his gut instead of ignoring it like he is.

 

                “What are you doing?” He asks, point blank, because it’s kind of an important question, and Hale hasn’t given him any hints to the answer yet. He’s a little bugged by the fact that his words come out a little more curious than annoyed, but at least his frustration hasn’t even began to melt away yet, so he has that. In fact, he knows that the longer Hale does his dumb silent intimidation act, the madder he’s going to get.

 

                Hale either knows this, or he’s deemed it time enough to give that shit up, because now he’s reaching up and with speed that Stiles can’t match, pins the hand holding his gun to the wall by his wrist. Hale’s fingers burn against his bare skin and he sucks in a breath that cuts at his lungs because… As much as they get in each other’s faces, especially when they’re yelling, they don’t _touch_. There are the occasional shoves, and heat of the battle movements, but they don’t hit, they don’t caress, they don’t _pin down_.

 

                But apparently, Hale seems to think that there’s got to be a beginning of everything.

 

                He leaves Stiles other hand free, and it itches to reach up and cling to Hale’s shirt, to try intimidating him right back, or to yank him closer, but he instead curls it into a fist and presses closer to the wall at his hip. Hale’s other arm comes up to lean against the wall next to Stiles’ head and shoulder, effectively moving him right into Stiles’ breathing space.

 

                He feels so hot. There’s sweat beading on his forehead and the oxygen is coming in shorter now, but… to blame it all on the rage, _or_ the swelling arousal would be silly. It’s all very likely from both. Nonetheless, it’s all Hale’s fault.

 

                “You,” Hale starts, and his voice is so much lower than it was before – maybe more so than Stiles has ever really remembered hearing it. Stiles isn’t the only one _pissed_ here, it seems. His next words could be anything, could likely be _are an idiot_ , or _are the worst person I’ve ever had the misfortune of having to work with_ , or _make me so angry_ (right back at him), but Stiles doesn’t have to wait long.

 

                They’re a bit of a surprise, “ _Need me_ to survive.”

 

                There’s something a little off about his voice, but Stiles can’t quiet place it. He can’t tell if it’s shock, of if it’s just that burning anger. If he’s connecting the dots finally, or trying to prove his point in a way that Stiles hasn’t caught on yet. Of course Stiles needs him to survive – that’s what he’s been saying the entire _goddamn_ time.

 

                He should say something. He knows he should. Hale’s obviously waiting on it, on either confirmation to his statement (still, _what_ does he mean?), or Stiles to fight it, or _something_. He can’t turn the silent treatment thing back on him, he’s too emotional right now to do that, and even if he wasn’t, there’s a high chance he wouldn’t even be able to go through with it anyway. He _should_ say something like, _yeah, I do, so that’s why I don’t want you getting your dumb ass killed_ , but.

 

                What all that comes out instead is a purr of, “Why, Agent Hale,” as the shittiest, bitter smirk spreads over his lips and he jerks a thigh up high between Hale’s own, “Is that a gun, or are you just happy to see me?”

 

                Hale’s reaction is pretty much instantaneous the second the last word leaves Stiles’ mouth. He shoves away, hard, from him and the wall, spinning swiftly on his heel. His breathing is heavy and more than a little of a warning that he’s beyond boiled over and infuriated. He makes it all the way to their table, figure tense and bothered, and reminding Stiles of an enraged bull – and that’s the moment that Scott finally walks in.

 

                Stiles doesn’t know how much he heard, but when he turns to his friend, Scott’s face doesn’t show even a lick of embarrassment or disgust, only confusion. The tail end of their exchange must not have been that loud then.

 

                Out of the corner of his eye he can see Hale whitening his knuckles as he grips the hell out of one of their table’s corners as he stares down at their notes and blueprints and what not. Stiles quickly averts his gaze, definitely not wanting to be caught watching, not now, not by either of them, and sharply wrenches his clothes back into place (not that they moved a lot, but the point is in the comfort of the motion). Scott opens his mouth, no doubt to ask just what the fuck that was about, but Stiles only shoves past him, waving over his shoulder vaguely in the direction of their office and Hale. “You and Hale come up with a new plan.”

 

                There’s no way in hell that he’s up for answering any of Scott’s questions right now.

 

                He doesn’t even care if his voice sounds downright hostile when he states, “I need a drink,” as his goodbye.

 

                He needs a hell of a lot more than just that. He needs his mom again, maybe. To talk to her and feel comforted by her words and her hugs like he used to when he was little and could still get them. He needs to just not be involved in all of this bullshit in general, too. God, he needs Agent Hale’s hands down his pants –

 

                (Okay, no, not the time or place. Not with what just occurred.)

 

                Better yet, he needs to wrap that asshole up in a blanket. Force him to chill the hell out and think about things. Christ, he’s going to drive Stiles crazy one day. Maybe even get himself killed.

 

                But a drink? He also needs that and it’s just about the only thing he can really have right now, so god help him if they don’t let him have one.

**Author's Note:**

> soooooooooo..... kudos are really nice, since you made it this far. and if you REALLY liked it, a comment would make my day. seriously. and it doesn't even have to be about anything important, either. it would just show that you liked my fic enough to tell me so, even if its just a dot in the box, or telling me about your pet, or how your day was.


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